


Burn

by October_rust



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, PWP, Rutting, sex against the Batmobile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 17:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: Batman pins Red Hood down against the hood of the Batmobile.





	Burn

“Don't move.”

Batman's voice is a low growl, the warning loud and clear in the way he grips Jason nape. But Jason only laughs, exhilarated. His lips sting; he tastes blood when he licks at them. He's so utterly at Batman's mercy, with his cheek smashed against the hood of the Batmobile, and his left arm twisted behind his back. And yet it's glorious, that helplessness, that thrum of a barely leashed violence. It always happens like that, too – after a long chase across the rooftops, after pleading and punches and sharp words, until Batman finally gives in and holds Jason captive in some dark, abandoned alleyway.

“Don't move?” Jason rasps, still grinning, relishing the sharp, coppery tang in his mouth. “Nah, that's no fun.”

Abruptly, he bucks his hips, grinds his ass against Batman's groin. And Batman doesn't disappoint him; the gauntleted fingers clench even harder, digging into Jason's wrist and neck, before Batman presses closer, leaning his heavy weight against Jason's back.

“Don't. Move.”

That menacing, gravelly tone can alone reduce the toughest of crime lords to panic. Hearing it just next to his ear, with warm puffs of Batman's breath washing over his skin, sends a shiver down Jason's spine. 

Still, Jason keeps on smiling, keeps on rolling his hips. 

“C'mon, old man,” he says, mocking. “You can do better than that.”

He doesn't have to wait long for Batman's patience to wear thin. There it is, that dangerous stillness, the stiffening of those powerful muscles. Anticipation shoots through Jason like an electric current, making his pulse leap. 

Yes, oh, yes. 

“What's wrong?” he says, breathless. “Can't handle me, Batman? Am I too much for – ah!”

The rest of it dissolves into a pained gasp, as, swift and cruel, Batman shifts his grip, tangles his fingers in Jason's hair, and wrenches Jason's head up. Jason has no choice but to move with it, his throat forced into a long, vulnerable arch. 

Above, he catches a glimpse of Batman's face. With the cowl on, his features half-hidden in the shadows, Batman seems almost inhuman – a horned, vengeful demon, emerging from the underworld to punish the sinners. The white lenses stare back at Jason, dispassionate, assessing. 

It's almost too much, and it takes all of Jason's willpower not to flinch under Batman's piercing gaze. 

“That trick doesn't work on me anymore,” he says, swallowing with an effort, his smirk slightly strained around the edges. “The whole big, scary Bat routine, you know.”

It's a lie, though. To have all of that intensity, all of that power, all of Batman's attention focused on no one else but Jason is beyond intoxicating. In those moments, when they play their weird little game, Batman belongs only to Jason. Nothing, no one, can come between them.

And Batman, of course, sees right through Jason's bluster. The corners of that beautiful, stern mouth quirk up, and then Batman gives Jason's hair another harsh tug. This time, Jason can't stifle his moan, can't stop himself from briefly closing his eyes in bliss. 

“Fuck you,” he blurts out, mortified at his own weakness. 

But Batman ignores the curse. Instead, he lets go of Jason's wrist, wraps his arm around Jason's waist. It's not a particularly restraining hold; both of Jason's hands are free now, and it would be very easy to get away, to retaliate, to reach for his guns. 

The point is, Jason doesn't want to. 

Oh, he thrashes in Batman's embrace, because he can't go down without a fight, and Batman counters all of his half-hearted jabs with an unyielding strength. Yes, Jason thinks. Cage me, pin me down. 

“That's all you've got?” he hisses. “Really? You son of a – “

Again, Batman knows what Jason needs; with one final yank, he releases Jason's hair and moves his hand to Jason's neck. There, those long, steely fingers collar the base of Jason's throat, exerting pressure until Jason obeys and leans his head against Batman's broad shoulder.

“That mouth of yours, Hood,” Batman whispers, dark amusement lacing his words. “Always getting you in trouble.”

“So do something about it.” Jason twists his face to the side, grazes his lips over the sharp curve of Batman's jawline. “Make me,” he urges, frustrated. “Make me shut up.”

Please.

Please, Bruce.

Just give me this, please.

Not that he would ever admit it out loud, never that. Still, he begs with his body, the desire and anger plain in every hitching breath, in the tense, restless energy coiled tight in his muscles. Desperate, he strains in Batman's arms, impatient to feel more, to taste more.

Please.

Batman's lips hover over his, so close, so tantalizing. The seconds trickle by, one torturous drop after another, before Batman finally dips his head lower to offer Jason a reprieve. Firm and commanding, his mouth covers Jason's, taking control, leaving no room for doubt. 

Mindless with want, Jason tries to surge up, to bite and lash out, to turn it all bloody and wild, but Batman doesn't allow that. With a deliberate thoroughness, he presses down, keeping the strokes of his tongue teasing and lazy, building up a steady rhythm. And it's a devastating tactic; Jason surrenders to it, whimpering, kissing back just as slowly, just as deeply. 

By the time Batman draws back, Jason is stripped of all his defenses. Those rough fingers caress the taut tendons in Jason's throat, those hard lips press one last, tender kiss to Jason's mouth, and Jason pretends he's not arching into the touch, not hoping to make it linger, if only for a while longer. 

But their dance is far from over yet.

Batman drops his grip from Jason's neck, trails his palm across Jason's back. When the hand stops between Jason's shoulder blades, the intent unmistakable, heat and excitement ripple through Jason.

Though he's prepared for it, the shove still makes him stumble, still gives him that delicious sense of falling. He catches himself smoothly on his forearms and bends over the hood of the Batmobile. This, too, serves to add fuel to the flames, as he imagines what a picture he must present, poised like that, with Batman towering over him. 

And then all of Jason's thoughts flee, because Batman steps closer, draping his body over Jason's, wedging his thick thighs between Jason's spread legs. Even with the armor in the way, it's still both intimate and dirty, so much that Jason pushes back, hungry and shameless like a rutting animal.

“C'mon, B,” he groans. “C'mon.”

Behind him, Batman remains silent and immovable, the solid wall of his chest plastered to Jason's back. It's a deceptive lull, however, because in the next moment he's lifting up Jason's hips, and grabbing at Jason's belt. With a few insistent tugs, he undoes the buckle and the zipper. 

Then, he simply yanks Jason's pants down and pushes the jockstrap aside. 

Cheeks flushing crimson, Jason bows his head, his ears filled with a dull roar, as Batman's hand skims over the swell of his ass. The sensations stand out in sharp relief, register one by one – his exposed skin, the reinforced knuckles of Batman's gauntlet, the weight of his holsters still encircling his thighs.

Yes, please, yes.

Batman chooses this moment to tighten his fingers, and his grip starts verging on painful, sure to leave bruises. A strangled noise escapes Jason, his hips giving an involuntary twitch. He knows that afterwards he's going to cherish those marks, to trace them again and again, so that they won't fade out too quickly, so that – 

“Focus,” Batman orders, but his voice has a huskier, deeper quality to it.

The touch withdraws, and there's a pause, the slight shifting of Batman's stance, accompanied by the faint creak of the gauntlets being removed. Dizzy with need, Jason waits, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. 

Hurry, hurry.

As if hearing his plea – or maybe he's actually spoken it out loud? – Batman takes hold of Jason's hip, his other hand reaching between Jason's legs. Bare, callused fingers curl around Jason's stiff cock, and begin to stroke. 

“Ah!”

The pressure is merciless, the pace measured and precise, and Jason doesn't even try to resist it. Panting, he thrusts into that snug fist, as raw desire claws at him, the heat and tension almost unbearable. No one but Batman knows how to reduce him to such a quivering mess, how to bring him to his knees so thoroughly.

“You too, damn it,” he chokes out, clinging to the last vestiges of his self-control. “Let me feel you.”

Batman moves at that, a slow, grinding roll of hips that jolts Jason against the car. Jason scrambles for purchase, a hoarse moan ripping from his throat, as he rubs back against Batman, straining for it, eager for more. He's past caring about his dignity, past caring about sticking to the rules of their game. 

So good.

So fucking good.

Hot and hard, Batman's cock leaves a slippery trail of precome on Jason's ass, probing and pushing with small, insistent jabs. And when it finally slides in between Jason's cheeks, and the flared crown catches on his rim, teasing and dragging over it, Jason lets out a howl. His vision whites out, his muscles cording, as pleasure erupts within him, sudden and all-consuming like a wildfire.

It obliterates everything in its path, burns out every last resistance, every remaining coherent thought. Shuddering with the aftershocks, floating in the molten haze, Jason almost collapses, his cock still spurting come all over those clever, ruthless fingers. But Batman gathers Jason up, braces him with an arm across the chest. Their bodies rock together, tangled in the frenzied, messy rhythm. 

“Hood,” Batman growls, mouthing at Jason's throat, hips snapping harder and faster. “Jason.”

That thick length continues to rub in the crease of his ass, continues to nudge and push and torment, until Batman falters, thrusts one final time and comes with a grunt, muffling the sound against Jason's neck.

Eyes closed, Jason smiles with a delirious satisfaction, enjoying every hot, wet spasm, pulsing and dripping all over his ass. Yeah, this is what he wants. To be used like that, to have Bruce rut against him, mark him, claim him. To have that tangible proof that he can make Bruce lose control too.

He relaxes into Bruce's arms, waiting for the afterglow to wear off. The neverending pursuit, all the ways they clash and fight for the upper hand – for now, it doesn't matter. Bruce kisses his sweaty temple, and Jason doesn't mind the softness, the whispered endearments.

For now he's content to be trapped like that, shielded by Bruce's body, with Batman's black cape blanketing them both. 

After all, there's always the next round, the next chance to win their little game.


End file.
